


Intermission

by TheRebelFlower



Series: The Mechanic's Journey [2]
Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:54:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28594302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRebelFlower/pseuds/TheRebelFlower
Summary: When the Mechanic was a little careless and injured himself while working on the T-Drive, he wasn't prepared for the consequences.
Relationships: Grandma Tracy & The Mechanic
Series: The Mechanic's Journey [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2119407
Comments: 21
Kudos: 19





	Intermission

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Isolation on Tracy Island](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23492077) by [WillowDragonCat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WillowDragonCat/pseuds/WillowDragonCat). 
  * Inspired by [Isolation on Tracy Island 2.0](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27388045) by [WillowDragonCat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WillowDragonCat/pseuds/WillowDragonCat). 



> If you've read @WillowDragonCat 's Isolation updates on Tracy Island, you might remember two posts that triggered this story: In the first updates, Selene discovers where Grandma is hiding everyday and in the other, Grandma hints at how the Mechanic and her began their soap watching sessions. This is my interpretation of how it went, twisted slightly to match the Shadow Chronicles story line.

“I’m calling Grandma.”

The words fell like a death sentence over the silent room. The fact that they were delivered by the youngest Tracy brother, who was standing there like Lady Justice with his fists on his hips, didn’t improve things.

The Mechanic sat on the floor next to a workbench, pressing on the side of his foot using a blue shop towel to try to stem the flow of blood coming from a cut and feeling ridiculous. Ridiculous for not having been careful, ridiculous for injuring himself, ridiculous for having been caught.

Since his arrival on the island a few weeks back, he wasn’t sure where he fitted within the Tracy clan. Between Brains’ unwavering trust and Scott’s wariness, Gordon’s unexpected complete forgiveness and Kayo’s begrudging respect, he wasn’t sure what to think. While he was grateful for his current situation and newfound freedom thanks to Brains’ intervention and was genuinely happy to work on something challenging and useful for a change, he preferred to keep to himself and the last thing he wanted was to get Sally Tracy involved. She was the most disconcerting of them all because she had apparently made it a personal mission of hers to include him in her brood and the family life in general. She had done a lot for him, more than she would ever know, and he wasn’t sure how he was ever going to repay her. Bothering her about a stupid injury when he should have been more careful was not something he wanted.

“There’s no need to call her. I’ll be fine,” he growled at the blond teenager, who stared back silently with the poise and authority that would have made his eldest brother—or his grandmother, as a matter of fact—proud.

Alan defiantly pressed the closest comms button, asking her to meet them in the hangar, ignoring the Mechanic’s disapproving frown and crossing his arms over his chest as he waited.

“This is ridiculous, I can go to the med bay myself,” the Mechanic began, moving to stand up slowly and somewhat unsteadily, hindered by the sharp pain in his foot.

Alan put a hand in front of him, blocking his progress. “I know kung fu,” he warned.

The Mechanic rolled his eyes. “Oh, for the love of...” He took a deep breath, trying to calm down. He’d intended to go to the med bay, slap on some bandages and take a couple of painkillers. Now he’d have to wait and try to brush off Sally’s ministrations. He hoisted himself onto the empty work table, resigned.

The minutes ticked on, seeming to take forever. Alan was still watching him but his expression had softened and he actually looked concerned. He was a good kid, really. Trying to pass the time and divert the teen’s attention away from his injury, the Mechanic asked: “How did your calculus exam go?”

Alan smiled and extended his arm again, this time with his fist closed. “Got an A+,” he replied.

The Mechanic felt strangely elated as he responded to the proffered fist bump. John or Virgil were probably the teen’s go-to guys for homeworks, but the Mechanic had been the one in the kitchen, working on dinner when Alan was studying and the questions had popped up naturally. It had been odd at the time because it meant that Alan considered him part of the household enough to participate in everyday life (never mind that he had been mixing cake batter at the time) and mundane tasks such as helping with homework. Now he was glad he had contributed, even if it was just a little.

Sally arrived at that moment, looking determined and holding a first-aid kit. “I can’t leave you boys alone for five minutes,” she complained half-heartedly.

“He called you, Mrs. Tracy, I could have managed on my own,” the Mechanic said, ignoring Alan who was sticking his tongue out at him.

Visibly unimpressed, she gestured at him to remove the towel. The cut was deep and started bleeding the second the pressure was removed. “This’ll need stitches,” she muttered to herself, then added louder: “We can secure something over it to get you to the med bay and avoid leaving a trail...”

“It’s not nec—” He caught Sally’s eye and wisely chose to shut up. 

She opened the first aid kit and wrapped some gauze around his foot, securing it with tape. “We could call MAX in here so you can sit on him,” she offered.

“It’s not that far, Grandma, I’ll help him,” Alan offered, earning a smile from the Mechanic, who was grateful for the teen’s attempt to spare his dignity and avoid having to sit on Brains’ assistant like an overgrown toddler.

The progress to the med bay was slow, but Alan was efficient in supporting him. The kid was much sturdier than he looked and his paramedic training—they all had some basic notions as per the job they did—showed. After helping the Mechanic to sit on the examination table, Alan left the room, kissing his grandmother as he went.

“So, what happened? In the workshop without your boots? That’s unlike you,” she said, gathering the items she would need to work and setting them on a tray.

“I was upstairs and as those things go, I had an idea about the fuel intakes and how it would optimize them. I just wanted to test it right away. I was supposed to be down here for a few minutes.”

Sally set the tray down next to him on the table and went to wash her hands at the nearby sink. She used blunt-ended scissors to cut the gauze and tape bandage; he watched her before adding: “I didn’t turn all of the lights on and knocked over one of the tubs containing cuttings. Stepped on a piece of metal. Fell down. It’s as stupid as that.”

“Surely it would have been worth it to change before coming back down here? Or even wait until tomorrow? How long have you been working today?” she asked, putting some gloves on before she started cleaning the wound gently.

He shrugged, wincing at the sting. “... I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. I didn’t want to lose my train of thoughts.”

Sally injected some local anesthetic into his foot. “You _are_ allowed to rest once in a while, you know.”

“I’m not here on vacation, Mrs. Tracy, we do have a schedule to keep to and I want this to work. I don’t want to fail a second time.”

She removed her soiled gloves. “Stop that, you silly boy. You succeeded so well the first time, it might have been the one thing that saved my son’s life,” she scolded him, swatting at his arm before going to wash her hands again and putting on new gloves. “Things are progressing well and you will help no one if you overtax yourself to the point of making mistakes or injuring yourself.”

“I’m resting...” he tried to argue, but she shut him up with one glance.

She tested the area on his foot to make sure it was numbed properly, then began stitching him up. “We can’t risk this reopening. I’ll bandage you up but you need to keep off your foot for a few days. I should have crutches big enough for you somewhere around here...”

“All right, I’ll be careful around the workshop. Got it.”

“Oh, you’re not going back to the workshop after this. You are resting for today and tomorrow at least.”

“I can’t stop, we are scheduled to start putting in the computer consoles in the main cabin,” he protested, frowning and looking the ever-menacing man he could be.

“I’m sure Virgil will be happy to do it for you tomorrow,” she commented, not missing a beat.

“So, what am I supposed to do? It’s not like I’m incapacitated... much,” he finished a little lamely, seeing Sally’s sharp blue orbs flashing at him over the rim of her glasses.

“Well, for tonight, I’ll just take you with me to the den behind the kitchen to make sure you stay put.”

He snorted. “With tea and cupcakes while you’re at it?”

“Don’t make me laugh, I have to concentrate.”

“As if. You can probably do stitches with your eyes closed.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, young man.”

If anyone had told the Mechanic when he was younger that he’d enjoy bantering with a tough little seventy-something-year-old woman so much someday, he would have had an asthma attack from laughing so hard. “Please tell me we won’t be wearing beauty masks...” he asked, only half joking.

“Well, that’s up to you, sweetie, all I want is for you to sit quietly for a while and rest. That being said, those big tootsies of yours _could_ benefit from a little moisturizing lotion.”

An outraged gasp escaped his lips. He stared at her openmouthed while she finished the last stitch and bandaged his foot expertly. Ignoring him, she took the tray to the sink and removed her gloves, disposed of what was on the tray accordingly to whether it was to be discarded or sanitized later, then rummaged through a cabinet before coming back with what looked like two knit slippers. She showed him both—a bright red one and a more sober green one with gray stripes—as if she was expecting him to choose one. Apparently, he took too long to decide and she chose the red one for him.

And _put it on his foot_.

So much for avoiding her ministrations.

She left the table again to retrieve the crutches and he sat up straighter, letting his legs hang over the edge.

“Are you six three or six four?” she asked, coming back, fiddling with the height settings.

“Four.”

She nodded and put the crutches on each side of him, gesturing at him to stand up to finish adjusting the handles so that they were at the right height for his hands. “How’s this?”

“It’s fine.”

“Good. Let’s go back upstairs. I want you to sit down for a while and get your mind off of things. I promise you, it won’t hurt. You might even get more ideas about the construction!”

She patted his cheek affectionately then left like the queen that she was, not even waiting to see if he was following because she simply knew he would. It was a good thing that she had moved further away. He was itching so badly to hug her that his hands shook a little when he gripped the handles of the crutches. This was an unexpected side effect of him coming to live with this family for as many weeks as he had. Coping with the lack of human contact for all this time had never seemed like much of a problem, especially considering the Hood was controlling him a good part of the time. Now, each time someone touched him—and it happened more often than he would have thought—it was like his touch hunger woke up and he yearned for more, yet it made him uncomfortable at the same time.

He made sure to keep some distance between them and stood the furthest he could in the elevator back up to the house. If Sally noticed what he was doing, she didn’t comment about it. She was probably thinking he was brooding again, and in a way, it wasn’t very far from the truth.

The den was at the back of the kitchen and was designed to be cozy and remote, a refuge from the busier and noisier main lounge upstairs. If there was something positive in this forced break, it was that.

“Can I at least write down my idea so that I don’t lose it?” the Mechanic grumbled at her, stopping next to the holoprojector system.

“Yes, of course. I’ll be right back, I’m getting us some ice tea.”

He hated ice tea but said nothing, setting his crutches aside to free his hands and brought the computer interface up. He was almost done entering his notes when she came back and she couldn’t help but notice how he was standing. “Took you a whole ten minutes to use your foot despite my instructions!” she huffed.

“I’m just leaning on my toes, I’m not using it!” came his gruff reply.

She sighed. “Sometimes I wonder if I shouldn’t just straight out adopt you, Michael, you’re as bad as my grandsons, you’d feel right at home,” she muttered to herself.

He was glad that he was looking away from her and that he could work the controls some more because it gave him the time to school his face into a neutral expression and act as if he hadn’t heard her. The fact that she was using his full name while the others called him Mike or “Mechanic” was almost like a term of endearment to him and it reached to his core more than he wanted to think about. As far as adopting him went, he knew she was joking, but... he added a slight frown to his expression for good measure.

Sally was doing something behind him that involved moving furniture and he turned around to check; she was bringing a footstool close to a couch where he presumed that she wanted him to sit. _Stop throwing affection at me like that,_ he silently pleaded, not knowing what to do with it.

He didn’t know how long he was supposed to rest in the den with her and he wondered how he was going to make it through... he switched back from the computer view to the holoprojector and made his way to the couch, making sure he was using the crutches and that his foot wasn’t touching the floor.

Sally nodded approvingly and settled down in her own favorite armchair. “So, what do you like on television?” she asked.

“I don’t really watch it. I’m more of a reader.” He told himself that if she insisted on forcing him to take a break, he’d bring his tablet while she watched anything her heart desired and he could just tune it out.

“Something musical then?”

He shrugged noncommittally and she searched in her list of recorded titles until she found something called _Clef-Hangers,_ a reality show about aspiring singers. The auditions were obviously rigged and some of the contestants were plain idiots (or excellent actors playing idiots). There was no way they weren’t aware of how bad they were. And if those were actual people thinking they were good, the show was setting them up to laugh at them and it didn’t make for good entertainment. The Mechanic’s face fell as he watched on and he swore under his breath a few times, to the point that Sally paused the recording to look at him. “Something tells me you’re not enjoying yourself,” she said.

He threw his hands up. “I can’t believe this, an intelligent woman like you, watching such nonsense.”

“It’s all in good fun. They discover some true talents as the auditions progress.”

“The guy with the gym shorts and the glittery wig was _not_ a true talent.”

“The costumes are just for fun,” she exclaimed.

“Even if you put a three-piece suit on him, he would still sound like a monkey with its hand caught in a door!” His voice rose along with his exasperation. “Why did they even pick him for the audition? It makes no sense!”

“Do you always have to be serious and criticize things like that?”

“Yes, especially if it’s this painfully mind-numbing. Get used to it if you intend to have me sit here and torture me by forcing me to watch it!”

“Well, you don’t have to be so harsh about it, you could have asked polite—”

She stopped when she saw Gordon’s head pop into the room. He cast a curious glance at both of them, unsure if he should be flying to his grandmother’s rescue or laugh at the Mechanic’s ridiculous red slipper. “Is everything okay in here?” he asked, “we can hear you all the way from the kitchen...”

“It’s nothing, we’re just having a healthy debate about what to watch,” Sally replied pleasantly.

The Mechanic gestured toward the screen, mouthing “help me” at Gordon, who considered the situation for a moment. He bit his lip before saying: “Hey Grandma, didn’t you have that boxing show you watch? Why not put that on?”

“Oh yes, you’re right, great idea,” she exclaimed before working the projector controls.

Gordon winked at the Mechanic and waved before leaving. Considering the blond’s personality and fondness for pranks, the Mechanic wasn’t sure if he had just made the situation better or worse.

“You’ll like the Big and the Boisterous. I should have chosen that in the first place,” Sally commented.

“The what and the whose?” He already had a bad feeling about it...

“It’s about a family-run boxing school. There are fights and drama!”

The images switched on the projector. A... sculptural woman (it was the politest way to describe her) pranced about while some syrupy music played. She was put in various situations, serious, laughing, crying—what the hell was he watching? Gordon would regret putting him through this...

Sculptural Lady strolled in what he supposed was a sensual way toward an obviously built man, who smiled at her... then punched at the screen. The song picked up and boxing-related scenes played on.

The opening scene of the show was at a police station, where Sculptural Lady was talking to an inspector about some suspicious guy who was following her.

“This isn’t the beginning of the story,” the Mechanic said, hoping somehow that it would give Sally the hint that it might not be the best thing to watch.

“The series started over fifteen years ago, of course it’s not the beginning. I’ll just give you a lowdown of the situation—you’ll get on board quickly. This is Magdelena,” she began, pointing at Sculptural Lady, “She’s Carlos' wife, the man in the theme song. Carlos owns a boxing school where his sons train to fight in various championships.”

“OK...”

“But lately, some guy posing as a trucker has been following her, so that’s why she’s at the police station. Since Carlos is preparing for a big championship with Rick, one of his sons, she doesn’t want him to be upset and is doing this secretly, but Carlos found out and now he thinks Meggie is having an affair with the police inspector.”

 _Help..._ “... right.”

“We don’t know who this mysterious trucker is, we’ve never seen his face so far. He could’ve been hired by a competing boxing school, or a long-lost lover, or Carlos’ evil twin, this is all exciting!”

“Carlos has a twin?”

“Officially, no, but that’s the thing with soaps, it’s never as it seems at first sight! Maybe the trucker was hired by Carlos himself and is really a private investigator who is making sure she’s not having the affair with the police inspector.”

The Mechanic blinked, wondering for a moment if he was going to survive this whole ridiculous situation. He sat through the whole episode, biding his time, trying his best to refrain from commenting about the stupidest parts because Sally seemed to be enjoying herself so much and he didn’t want to upset her. That night when he went to bed, he lay there, wondering what had just happened. And laughed despite himself.

On the second day, the Mechanic went back to work but was banned from any activity that implied lifting anything, walking around a lot or pretty much anything that wasn’t planning or supervising. Sally checked the bandage to make sure everything was fine and took him to the den again to make sure he rested during that time at least. 

This time, he brought his tablet as he had planned. He sat on the couch with his leg up and rolled his eyes at the cheesy opening theme. He was mostly successful in tuning out Magdelena’s dramatic diatribe to the wife of a rival boxing club owner, but found his attention drawn to the training scenes as Carlos’ sons prepared for the important match. The Mechanic tried to look only casually interested but the fight scenes were actually decent and action-packed. He ended up only reading two pages of his book.

On the third day, he was back in the workshop as usual and Brains programmed MAX specifically to help him with the physical tasks. In the evening, Sally changed the bandage, seemed happy with how the wound was healing, but they were back in the den again so that he rested. On television, the characters were preparing for the important boxing match again—the pacing on this show wasn’t very fast. The wives were bickering at the local coffee shop while drinking from obviously empty mugs. Already more at ease with the situation and with Sally’s company, the Mechanic made fun of that, but he was still paying attention, and began asking questions about the ongoing storylines.

On the seventh day, he switched to a lighter bandage so as to prevent rubbing the stitches. He brought mulled cider to the den in an attempt to ward off the ice tea and they skipped the viewing that night, having a discussion about cooking and how he had begun to bake pastries to help pay for his university tuition. The discussion continued on pretty late into the evening. Neither seemed to mind.

On the tenth day, the drama on-screen triggered something in Sally, who began sobbing because the mysterious trucker turned out to be Carlos’ son Armando who had been missing for many years. At first, the Mechanic pretended that he didn’t see her—she was trying her best to keep quiet and he wanted to give her her privacy—but he ended up limping to her armchair and kneeling awkwardly in front of her to take her hands and promise her that her day would come too. She was too upset to scold him for using his injured foot and sat there, squeezing his fingers tightly.

He didn’t know how long they sat there. He let her catch her breath, trying to be unobtrusive, not caring if she was squeezing too hard. When she let go and composed herself, she asked him not to tell her grandsons about what had just happened because she didn’t want to worry them. Her trust and courage were humbling and he responded the only way he could, with a brief but heartfelt hug. What happened in the den would stay in the den. For both of them. He could live with that.

Sally removed the stitches on the fourteenth day. The Mechanic was free to walk around, only limping slightly. He gladly went back to work in his full capacity. A call for a rescue in the evening mobilized everyone; no one went to the den that day. The old woman regretted that their daily sessions ended so abruptly, but didn’t dare say anything to her unexpected companion. He was probably relieved that she had no more reasons to keep him coming back.

On the fifteenth day, right before the usual time, the Mechanic prepared a plate of pumpkin bread slices that he brought to the den with coffees. Then he sat in his usual seat on the couch, having somehow found the second red slipper to cover his now bandage-free feet. When Sally entered the room, she stopped at the doorstep, startled at the sight of him sprawled out with his feet on the footrest, apparently engrossed in whatever he was watching while waiting for her.

She said nothing, entered the room, but instead of sitting on her armchair, she chose the other side of the couch, next to him.

Both their smiles reached their eyes as he aimed the remote to start the show.


End file.
